by Tranay Adams
“Drop it! Drop it now!” He heard the cop bellow, his voice sounding slow and demonic the more he talked.
Several more police cruisers skidded to a halt on the scene.
“Ucheeee!” Uduka shrilled so hard and loud that veins formed across his forehead and neck.
Uche was so thirsty for Don Juan’s blood, that he wasn’t aware of anything going on around him. It was like he was possessed. The only thing that mattered to him was his vengeance, even if it meant his life. Don Juan snatched the pistol loose from the holster on his ankle, lifting his weapon as the Nigerian pointed the .45 down at his face.
A surge of gunfire filled the night’s air and with it came Uduka’s grief. He shut his eyes and his hot tears spilled down his cheeks. He sucked his lips inward and bowed his head, crossing his heart in the sign of the crucifix then jumped back behind the wheel of the G-ride and peeled off. As soon as he left, Bianca pulled up beside Don Juan’s wrecked Porsche. She looked on, watching the police handle the suspect that they had left. The Spanish vixen was about to drive away, when she heard a baby crying.
“Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa!”
Bianca frowned, hearing the wailing baby. She realized that it was coming from the mangled truck and jumped out of her whip. Keeping an eye on the police, she crept over to the SUV and peeked into the backseat. Her face took on a look of surprise when she saw little DJ in the backseat. After popping the locks through the broken driver side window, she pulled open the backdoor and recovered the child.
“Shhhh! Shhhh!” She hushed him as she took a hold of the car seat and slipped his diaper bag over her shoulder. With a watchful eye, she moved back to her ride and strapped the car seat into the passenger seat. Next, she ran over to the driver side and hopped in, firing that big bastard up.
“Aye, stop!” a police officer shouted, as he and a couple of others ran in her direction. It was too late though, because Bianca was already peeling out of there.
***
The light-skinned girl with the individual braids pulled Te’Qui to his feet. She took off her jacket and draped it over his shoulders.
“I’m going to call 9-1-1, okay?”
“Okay.” He nodded, slowly getting to his feet as he stared at Wicked’s mutilated body, which a crowd was forming around. The girl had just dialed the number and pressed the cellular to her ear when she heard the squealing of a car’s tires.
Urrrrrk! A black Caprice came to a halt in his line of vision and the driver side door flew open. His eyes got as big as saucers when he saw his mother, breaking into a plaque covered toothy smile from his days of captivity.
It was as if the world stopped spinning in that moment they laid eyes on one another. All of the things they went through in the time they were apart lead them to believe they’d never see each other again. But here it was. That miracle they’d both prayed for. It was unfolding right before their very eyes and if they could they’d freeze this moment in time and admire it for as long as they lived.
“Te’Qui, my baby!” She hopped out, smiling and crying all at once. Her hands cupping her mouth as she jumped up and down.
“Momma.” Te’Qui’s eyes became glassy. The youngster couldn’t contain his joy. He took off toward his mother. She took off right after him, hurrying in his direction. He jumped into his mother’s arm and she caught him, spinning around. Chevy and her son cried in each another’s arms. She kissed him on the cheek and along the side of his face.
“My God, my baby, my lil’ man.” She ran her hand up and down his back, feeling him shudder as he sobbed against her. “I missed you so much, Te’Qui. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I...I miss you too, momma, and I love you so, so much.”
“I love you so much too, baby, and I promise I’m never gonna let chu go again. You hear me? Never.” She sniffled, looking into his eyes and wiping the tears from off his cheeks. He nodded and she kissed his forehead, hugging him tighter.
At long last mother and son were reunited.
Chapter Fourteen
Hours Later
Bianca drove up the freeway tickling little DJ’s chin and making him giggle. The baby wore a jovial expression as he flailed his arms and kicked his legs. Seeing the little guy this happy, caused her to smile. It made her think back to the unborn child she’d lost, which was the reason she’d snatched him in the first place.
“Him a happy baby, huh?” she cooed. “Yes, he is. Oh, yes he is.” She passed him a bottle and he held it, sucking on its nipple.
“I was thinking since I’m your new mom now, that you should have a new name. What chu think about that?” She looked to the baby boy and he smiled with the nipple in his mouth. “Okaaay, I was thinking we’d name you after your daddy that died. How does Cameron sound?” She glanced over and little DJ was swinging an arm excitedly. “I thought you’d love it. Okay, your name is Cameron Jr. and your nickname will be Young Threat.”
Bianca cranked up the volume on Beyonce’s Drunk In Love and mashed the gas pedal, zipping the rental up the highway. “Las Vegas, Nevada, here we come. Whooo!” She sounded like a drunk ass sorority sister, holding her fist out of the window while gripping the steering wheel, tearing up the freeway lane.
The baby was the silver lining that came out of all of the madness those past few days. She wasn’t the least bit concerned about kidnapping charges, even though the police had spotted her leaving the scene with Little DJ. She couldn’t care less. This was another shot at motherhood and love for her. And she was thankful.
A couple days later
The day was one of the hottest it had been in some time. The enormous ember in the sky shined, casting a blinding light over the vast land that was Nigeria. She rung out her wet clothes until they were somewhat damp then flapped them out aggressively before hanging them out on the line. Her eyes narrowed as she went to pin up a sheet, the intense rays of the sun irritating her pupils. She winced, but finished her task, wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead when she was done.
When she slid her hand from off of her brows, she saw a silhouette moving in her direction. It was about her youngest son’s height and size. Smiling, she jumped to her feet and ran toward him, her ebony skin glistening from her perspiration. She ran with everything she had, quickly closing the distance between them. Having gotten a few feet away from him, she noticed the grief written across his young face. This slowed her running to a jog, until she eventually stopped, looking upon him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed hard, studying her baby boy’s expression.
He stopped where he was looking down at his fidgeting fingers, and occasionally glancing up at the woman that had given birth to him. His eyes were pink and had red webs on them, his cheeks streaked wet from crying. In a panic, her eyebrows raised and she looked to both sides of him. The lines across her forehead defined themselves. Her curiosity made itself present on her lips.
“Where’s your...where’s ya brudda?”
Finally, Uduka stopped fidgeting with his fingers and locked eyes with his mother. He didn’t have to say a thing, his eyes told her the entire story.
Uma’s eyes widened and she staggered back with her hand to her chest, choked up, devastated. Suddenly, she fell to the ground. Her eyes accumulated tears in them and her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. A cache of emotions hit her all at once. Her head snapped up and she looked up into the sky.
“Nooooo!” she screamed, veins rippling through her forehead and up her neck. “Nooooo!” The sound left her voice, but then came back, she shook her head fast. “Gawd, notta ‘nudda one of ma baybees. Lord, wat have I done? What have I done to deserve dis?” Uduka dropped to the ground beside his mother and wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to bawl against his chest.
***
The morgue was scarcely lit. Several lifeless forms lay on metal tables with sheets draped over them. Every single one of them wore a tag on their toe, like they were some kind of shirt inside of a department store. A pathologi
st stood over the corpse of a tall dark-skinned man whose complexion was food stamp blue. His body was riddled with holes, having been shot several times. He was swollen, really swollen. If it hadn’t been for the rest of him being slender one would have mistaken that he was a muscular man, but that definitely wasn’t the case.
At the very center of him was a large Y where he’d been cut open. It was held together by stitches. This was due to the autopsy that had been performed on him. The huge letter like scar looked like the symbol a super hero would have on his chest. It put a person in the mind of a black Superman.
The pathologist scribbled something down on a clipboard, draped the sheet over the dead man’s body, and slipped a tag around his big toe.
***
He made his way down the tier, holding the items he received when he walked through the gates of the place that was considered hell on earth. Prison. His head was on a swivel as he mad dogged all of the hardened criminals that were glaring at him like they wanted to put a sharp piece of steel through him. He looked one buff ass nigga up and down like ‘What’s up? You don’t want none of this, homeboy’ when he passed him. Focusing his attention straight ahead, he moved toward his cell’s door where he walked right in and sat his items down on the bottom bunk. He was glad he had the house to himself, but knew that it wouldn’t last for long. Someone would be occupying the space sooner or later with him. So, he figured he’d enjoy his alone time while it lasted. After he closed the door shut, he laid back on the bed and pressed a piece of gum on the wall. Afterwards he pressed a picture of his family against it. It was a happier time for him and his family. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the bottom of the bunk above him. Next, he took a deep breath and exhaled, closing his eyes shut.
“Rest in peace, Boxy.” Uche whispered, not regretting sacrificing his freedom in order to get the man that murdered his brother. He’d make the same choice a thousand times if given the option.
That night he had the drop on Don Juan in the middle of the street, but when the police ordered him to drop his weapon, he complied at the last minute. His adversary saw this as his chance to body him and tried to shoot him. This action led to the police unloading everything that they had on him.
Epilogue
A few days later
Tiaz was bussed from the courthouse to the County jail. After going through all of the bullshit they put a person through when he first came through that shithole, he made his way to the telephone, slapping hands with the cats he knew and mad dogging others. He was surprised at how his name was ringing off behind the walls. Dudes were talking about how he was putting it down and giving it up in the streets. Although he got some love, he knew he’d also feel the hate. The two coincided with one another. It wouldn’t be long before he had to set a mothafucka straight so they’d know that he wasn’t one for the bullshit.
Tiaz pushed the thought of having to check a nigga to the back of his mental. Right now, he was focused on getting in touch with someone on the outside so they could get his money and hire him a decent lawyer.
Tiaz stepped to the payphone and reached for the receiver. Before his hand could grasp it, a bony one grabbed it. His eyes followed the bony hand, up its arm and over to the face of the body it belonged to. It was in the possession of a dark-skinned man with nappy hair and some serious acne. His face looked like plastic bubble wrap and his eyes were as yellow as lemons. His uniform was two sizes too small so his limbs looked like tree branches coming out of his sleeves and pants. He sized the thug up, studying him as if he was the tallest stack of shit he’d ever laid eyes on.
“My man, now I know you aren’t tryna use my phone without asking?” dark-skinned asked.
“Your phone?” Tiaz frowned. “I don’t see your name on the mothafucka.”
“The hell you don’t.” Dark-skinned pointed to the name on the phone.
“Your name is Pacific Bell?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Ya damn skippy, now pay up.” Dark-skinned rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “What chu got, money? Commissary?”
“How about an ass whopping?” Tiaz punched him in the mouth with all of his might. The force behind the punch was so great that it caused him to bump the back of his head on the wall and slide down to the floor. The dark-skinned man’s bottom jaw split straight down the middle and his grill quickly filled with blood as he tried to push the separated halves back together. The pain was so intense that it brought tears to his eyes. Tiaz went to work on him, kicking and stomping him as he held his arms up trying to shield his face.
Tiaz was so occupied with giving the man the business that he neglected to watch his back. A look of surprise came over him when he felt sharp metal puncturing his back and ribcage. He swung around with his full strength, bringing his balled fist across the jaw of a stockier, muscular cat. The blow caught the man off guard and caused him to stagger to the side, but he held tight to his shank. He righted himself before he could fall and wiped his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand.
His eyes took on a frightening glint and a satanic grin emerged on his face. The sight of blood seemed to entice him. He charged at Tiaz. The thug sidestepped him, grabbed the back on his neck and gripped his wrist. He twisted his wrist so hard and fast that a sharp pain shot through it. It was the equivalent of piercing the skin with a hot needle and it made the man drop his shank. The man’s mind was quickly taken off of his wrist when his face smashed into the wall and his forehead split open like a coconut. The man fell to the floor in a heap, groaning in pain. He slowly made to get up when the cats Tiaz knew from the hood finally rushed in and mopped him and the dark-skinned man up. All he could do was watch before collapsing to the floor from blood loss. An alarm blared inside of his ears. The last thing he saw were the C.O.s suited and booted in riot gear rushing in to restore order.
A couple days later
Tiaz’ eyelids fluttered open. His vision was blurry, but it came back into focus after a while. He sat up in bed and looked around. The room he was inside was dimly lit. There were hospital beds lined up on both sides of him. Some of them were occupied by inmates. A nurse was checking one of the inmates’ vitals. He also saw a doctor standing in an open door jotting something down on a clipboard. That’s when it dawned on him that he was in the infirmary. He looked down at his torso and saw that it was wrapped in a bandage.
Tiaz brought both his hands down his face and blew hard. He realized that he passed out from loss of blood, but he didn’t know how long he had been out. The nurse walked inside of the room that the doctor was in. As soon as she went through the door, two inmates arose from their beds, slammed the door closed behind her and pushed a file cabinet down in front of it. A C.O. came running towards the two inmates. He radioed for help through his walkie-talkie and suddenly an inmate pulled a pillowcase over his head tightly and rammed his head into the wall until blood smeared the inside of it and he passed out. As soon as the C.O. hit the floor, the inmate along with a few others, barricaded the rest of the entrances into the infirmary.
They then moved in on Tiaz. The dim light in the room bounced off the metal of their shanks and caused them to glint.
Danger! Danger! Danger! The alarm inside of Tiaz’ head blared like the dismissal bell for after school detention.
“Arrrr!” He grabbed his side, his moving too fast caused pain to shoot through his ribcage like bolts of lightning. He shuddered, feeling groggy and weakened from his wounds, but forced his eyelids back open. These niggaz wanted blood, his blood. And he wasn’t giving up a drop of it without a fight.
Swiftly, he pulled the IV from his arm and hopped out of bed. He wrapped his left hand up in a sheet and unscrewed the top half of the IV pole beside his bed. He held tightly to the lower half of the IV pole, planning to use it as a spear. He then backed himself up against the wall. His head was on a swivel as he surveyed his surroundings, searching for the first man looking to claim his life.
The shank wielding inmates for
med a circle around him. He looked around at all of their ice grills wondering why they hadn’t attacked. That’s when the circle parted and a man came waltzing through. His face was partially hidden by the darkness of the room, so he had to peer closely to I.D. him. When recognition ripped through his brain, he had to blink a few times to make sure who he was seeing was actually standing before him.
“Sa...Sa...” Tiaz stammered.
“Savon, alive and in the mothafucking flesh,” the man spoke.
Tiaz was speechless, he couldn’t believe it. Chevy’s brother was standing right before his eyes.
“You done my niggaz up real nasty, but they were throwaways. I got plenty more hittas where they came from.” He swept a hand around to all of the men surrounding them. “Are you ready to die, nigga?” He pulled a sharp metal shank from the small of his back. It was about seven inches in length and had fabric wrapped around its lower half for grip. Tiaz readied himself for the fight for his life once he saw the weapon come into play. “You set me up, pussy. Left me to rot in this shithole, put cho mothafucking hands on my sister, got my nephew out here pushing poison in the streets! Ah, nigga, you gots ta go off of GP! What chu did was a violation punishable by death! And yo’ sentencing has come, bitch-nigga!”
“You ain’t saying shit, let’s dance!” Tiaz shot back with a hard face. His heart was beating fast, but it didn’t pump Kool-Aid, it pumped Gangsta Juice.
A flicker of movement at his left brought his eyes around. One of the inmates was tossing him a metal shank identical to Savon’s. He threw the IV pole down and pulled the blade down from the air. As the alarm blared in their ears and the inmates cheered them on, the two men circled one another, looking for flaws in the other’s defense. The thug’s eyes were trained on his opposition’s left side. He knew vital organs were on this side and attacking the right spot could kill a man.